


Arkadia Summer Camp

by suchabeautifuldisaster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-02 02:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14534877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchabeautifuldisaster/pseuds/suchabeautifuldisaster
Summary: It's the summer of coming home and moving on from loss.It's the summer of friendship and bratty, lovable kids.It's the summer of ice cream and McDonald's French fries.It's the summer of water balloon fights and finding yourself.It's the summer of going to the drive-ins and falling in love all over again.It's the summer of Bellamy and Clarke finding each other.***





	1. Man, It Sucks

_**(May 15, 2018)** _

 

 **Clarke’s** been dreading this drive for two months.

 

Even now, as she’s sprawled out on her dorm room floor, her various belongings surrounding her in jumbled heaps, she heaves out a sigh. Checking her phone for the billionth time in the past three hours, she sees that _yes,_ it’s still the Tuesday before she’s set to leave the sanctuary of the university’s campus and back to the home she’d love more than anything to just leave behind.

 

Hell, she tried. Clarke almost snagged a summer art internship in Italy, was all set to go, but the aching sadness in her Mom’s voice through the phone at Clarke’s oversea plans put an end to that escape.

 

_“Honey, come home. I haven’t seen you in months, Clarke, and you just- you need to come home.”_

 

Clarke shakes her head, her hands coming up to tug at her blonde strands, newly shortened into a layered cut that grazed her collarbone. After these past six months, she felt as if she needed something different, something to distinguish herself from the Clarke that she had been _before_.

 

Because that girl was stupid and innocent and selfish… that girl had no idea of the destruction that awaited her so soon after last summer had ended.

 

It was as if an avalanche had descended upon Clarke’s life once she had returned to school her junior year. First, it was just little things, like an obnoxious professor who didn’t believe in any other drawing techniques other than the classics. Or that the pizza (barbecue chicken, her _favorite_ ) served in the dining hall had turned into a tasteless, cardboard mess. Or that she could never seem to find a parking spot right in front of her dorm building, forcing her to park in the back every single time.

 

But then, on one of the last warm days in mid-November, her girlfriend… _ex_ , Clarke corrects herself, somewhat bitterly, for while she’s almost positive that she’s not in love with Lexa anymore, the thought of her still stirs _something_ in Clarke that she’s not quite ready to admit to herself yet.

 

Lexa, with her long, soft brown hair and wide doe eyes, had sat Clarke down on a bench outside of their favorite frozen yogurt place, and told her that they couldn’t be together anymore. That their year and a half long relationship was over because apparently Lexa had failed to mention that she still had feelings for a girl she had been with before Clarke, but the girl had left the state with no promise to return. But… but…

 

The girl, Nora, who Clarke had found out, through angrily stalking her social media accounts, that Nora was beautiful, with warm brown skin and shiny black curls, full lips curved in a bright smile while her arms were wrapped tight around a laughing Lexa.

 

_“I-I love her, Clarke. I can’t let her go again. Please, try to understand, I’ve been thinking about this for weeks-” Clarke cuts Lexa off at that, not quite able to believe what's she's hearing, because this couldn't be happening right now. They were fine, they were great, they were ClarkeandLexa. Nothing was ever supposed to come between that._

 

_Clarke's heart starts to race in her chest, her voice coming out uneven. "Weeks? You’ve been thinking about leaving me for some girl that broke your heart for weeks. Oh my god. Oh my god.”_

 

_“Clarke, please, you have to understand, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do," Lexa insists in a pained voice, clutching so tight at Clarke's hands, as if trying to press the words into her skin._

 

_Clarke breathes harshly through her nose, the anger and devastation rising in her chest, coiling tight to spring.“If this is so damn hard, Lexa, why even do it at all? We’re happy, we have plans, we love each other.”_

 

_“It’s true. I do love you. But, Clarke-” and Lexa pauses to stare directly into Clarke’s eyes as tears slip silently down her cheeks. “I love her more. And It would be wrong, being with you and knowing that I couldn’t give you all of me, not when she exists.”_

 

_“I have to go.” Clarke wrenches her hands from Lexa’s grip, forces herself to stand when all she wants to do is crumple to the sidewalk and cry for a very long time. But she doesn’t. Clarke stumbles over to her car, tears flooding her vision, ignoring Lexa’s pleads for her to stay, but then all she’s saying is Clarke’s name, just her name, over and over and over again._

 

_And Clarke never thought that there would come a time where she would hate her name on Lexa’s lips, would loathe the way it sounded, but then again, Clarke also never thought they would break up. Especially not like this._

 

Clarke had barely been able to drive herself back to campus before she completely fell apart, pulling haphazardly into a parking spot. She managed to send a text to Wells, then curled into a tight ball in the driver’s seat and succumbed to sobs that threatened to rip her lungs apart.  

 

And he found her like that, his best friend, crying and shaking, in the midst of a tragedy that comes with losing your first love.

 

If only she had known that she would be losing him too, except more permanently. The forever kind of loss that comes when your best friend is buried six feet deep in a cemetery that Clarke still can’t bring herself to visit.

 

 _Coward,_ she mentally berates herself, twisting her fingers into a faded blue sleep shirt she had been absently folding just seconds ago. She then smooths out the fabric over her lap, tracing the cracked edges of the comic book characters that had been pressed onto the graphic tee.

 

It had been one of Well’s shirts from high school that she coveted as one of her own, because it was big and soft and comfy. Besides, her best friend had had at least dozens of other shirts just like this, and with the easy grin and shrug he had sent her way, he let her know that taking it was just fine.

 

She can picture him now, broad shoulders snug in his dark denim jacket, hands shoved into chinos, that big, full-lipped grin lighting his face up like a beacon of happiness, putting everyone around him at ease immediately.

 

 _God,_ the things she would do, just to see that smile once more, for one more inside joke, for the press of his shoulder against hers, for all of their long car rides and late night fast food trips, for the way he could tell what she was thinking just by the furrow of her brow-

 

Her phone buzzes then, breaking off the tirade of thoughts, of all the things that she had taken for granted and will never get back. Clarke chews on the inside of her cheek, manages to fold three more shirts and wrap up her desk lamp before grabbing the phone and tapping at the screen to view the text.

 

_(4:47) Monty Green: Clarke!!! Jas and I were just talking about that time at the drive-ins last summer, two words: dump truck. Hahahaha! We are def having more nights like that this summer, text me when you’re home :)_

 

Clarke grins, small, just a little twist of the lips, but there all the same. She texts Monty back with a cheerfulness she doesn’t really feel but she’s actually _trying_ , so it’s a start. That would be the one bright spot about being home for the summer: her friends, who never failed to put Clarke in a good mood when she was around them. It also helped that they all shared the same job. Clarke, Raven, Monty, Jasper and the illusive Murphy were all counselors at Arkadia’s summer camp program. Well, there was also Bellamy, but it was hard being friends with someone who made it his mission to be as mysterious and standoffish as possible. Don’t get Clarke wrong, Bellamy was perfectly polite and great with the kids, but he avoided hanging out with the others at all times, always having a perfect excuse.

 

Her mind can't help but wander back to Wells' funeral, however, when a strong pair of arms held her tight and told her that it was going to be okay. That Bellamy Blake had comforted her when she least deserved it.

 

Clarke shakes her head, pushing the memory back, pushing thoughts away of the eldest Blake sibling, because she hadn't known what to do about that moment then, and still doesn't know now, months later.

 

Thankfully, Wells had never worked at the camp, so at least that place was safe from memories of him, and made Clarke breathe, just a little bit easier. Of course, that was probably one of the _only_ places where Wells’ presence didn’t feel like a permanent tattoo, leaving Clarke in a cloud of misery whenever she went, hell, _anywhere_ , from their favorite ice cream spot to the parking lot behind Niylah’s Diner.

 

There was also the possibility of seeing her ex around town, and that was enough to make Clarke’s stomach roil.

 

_Stop it, stop it, stop it._

 

And to give the broody blonde some credit, she does try, succeeding in packing up most of her things, excluding the essentials that she still needed to use. Just as her stomach is beginning to growl, she gets a message from her art friends' group chat, asking if anyone is up for one last “family” dinner before the big trip home.

 

She wasn’t really looking for company. In fact,if Clarke could isolate herself from the rest of the world, she would, but Clarke knew that she shouldn’t. If not for her, then for her mom, who had already lost her husband. Damn everything if she’d lose her only child too, from the effects of a broken heart.

 

So Clarke sends back a text, slips on sandals and snatches her bag from the bed before shutting the door resolutely behind her.

 


	2. Chapter 1 Interlude: Stay Away (flashback)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I felt that I should give a little bit more backstory to what's happened.
> 
> What you're going to read is two months after Lexa and Clarke broke up. So thinking, very early February, because their breakup occurred sometime in mid-November. Oh! also to mention: the setting for this story is North Carolina. Just fit, for me, especially after spending an internship in the south these past four months and what I pictured Arkadia looking like. I'll have better descriptions later.
> 
> Anyway, summary in its simplest form: the funeral of Wells Jaha, the breakdown of Clarke Griffin, and the surprise rescue of Bellamy Blake.
> 
> Hope you all are enjoying this so far!

  _ **(February 8, 2018)**_  

 

 

 

 

**Clarke** can’t take it. Being here, gripping tight to her mom’s hand and watching her best friend’s dad talk in an uneven voice with tears standing in his wise dark eyes about the son he so brutally lost. Before he had only lost his wife. But now, his only child was also gone. _For forever._  She squeezes her eyes shut, ducking her head, trying to pull herself together, trying to restrain herself from her emotions but then Mr. Jaha says something that rips her heart open with one sentence.

 

“I know that my son was happy and fulfilled in his life, because he had been able to share it with his best friend, Clarke.”

 

Best friend. Your person. The one who is supposed to be there at your side through everything, who you may bicker and argue with but it doesn’t matter because you know that the two of you love each other enough to get through it.

 

_“Griff, come on, please, let’s talk about this-” Clarke cuts off Wells’ pleading with a glare so severe it could cut glass._

 

_“You need to leave,” she grits out, stalking across the room and throwing open the door. She couldn’t believe him. After everything Clarke had just been through, after Lexa_ _had ruined Clarke, Wells wanted to date her?_

 

_Her best friend, the one who cried in her arms when they were nine and Wells’ mom had just died._

 

_Her best friend, who held her ten-year-old hand tight at her father’s funeral only a year later._

 

_Her best friend that made it to all of her art contests and could catch any food in his mouth that was tossed at him._

 

_Her best friend, who is apparently in love with her, who wanted more than she could ever possibly give._

 

_Didn’t he see that she wasn’t even a whole person anymore? Couldn’t he tell that she was broken beyond repair? That not only was she incapable of a relationship right now, that she might never be?_

 

_How could he do this to her? How could he ruin everything like this?_

 

_Shoulders slumped in defeat, he walks out the door, the muscle in his jaw jumping slightly. It was the only sign of his anger, and if it had been another time, she would’ve poked at it and made a joke, instantly diffusing the tension._

 

_But she wasn’t sure if a time like that would ever come again._

 

And it didn’t, because Wells had been killed three days later.

 

That’s when Clarke breaks, fully and completely. She tugs her hand away from her mom’s grasp, ignores the touch at her shoulder as she stands, ignores the murmurs of her name as she breaks into a run, her heels sinking into the damp grass. Behind her, Mr. Jaha stops talking, while everyone else at the gravesite erupts into collective chatter.

 

***

Abby Griffin, a capable-looking woman with caramel colored hair, stands up immediately, makes two steps towards her daughter’s retreating back before Marcus Kane places a hand on her arm. She turns her head to him swiftly, ready to give the mayor of Arkadia a piece of her mind, but Kane surprises her.

 

“I’ll go with you,” he says softly, ducking his head, dark brown hair falling rakishly over his cheeks and jaw. He squeezes her arm gently. Abby blinks, shocked but pleasantly so, as friends and family around them begin to gossip in hushed tones.

 

There’s hissed whispers of _“How dare she,”_ to quiet tones of _“I hope she’s okay, that poor thing.”_ In the back row sits Wells’ and Clarke’s high school friends, watching the rising fiasco before them with sadness and frustration.

 

“We should go find her,” Monty, a slight young man with shaggy black hair, whispers to Jasper, his pointed face tight with concern. Jasper, with big brown eyes and lanky frame, nods jerkily, squeezing the hand of a girl with thick dark curls before standing up with his best friend. Raven, a stunning young woman with perfectly arched brows and brown hair twisted into an immaculate ponytail, doesn’t even bat one thick eyelash; releasing her hold on an exasperated man with angular features and icy eyes, she reaches for Jasper to pull her up as well. Said exasperated man rolls his eyes but also gets to his feet, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

 

The six people are just about to leave, Mr. Jaha watching the two groups as if in a daze, hands curling tightly into the sides of the dark wooden podium.

 

Bellamy Blake abruptly rises from his spot in the middle row. Beside him, his little sister Octavia raises her eyebrows in alarm, makes a grab for her brother’s hand before Lincoln, tall and dark, her boyfriend, places a hand on her knee and squeezes reassuringly.

 

The couple shares a look, an unspoken conversation that ends with Octavia relaxing slightly and dropping her hand, all the while her penetrating blue eyes never leave her older brother’s face.

 

Bellamy clears his throat, almost sheepish but commanding the audience nevertheless. It’s in the broad shoulders and the strong voice, the dark brown eyes that had seen too much at a young age. “I’ll go,” he states simply.

 

Abby’s eyes widen, taking in the young man who had made it a mission to keep everyone in the town at arms length, not excluding her own daughter. “Really, Bellamy, that’s very kind, but she’s my daughter,” the woman says cooly, tipping her chin up. She’s an intimdating force of nature, and it’s what drew Kane to her so quickly, so instantly.

 

Even now, Bellamy seems a bit fearful, for he never really got to know the force of a mother’s love, the power of it, but he stands his ground. He’s still not quite sure why, but he feels like he has to do this. Has to prevent what had happened to him just a month ago.

 

Because the last thing Clarke Griffin needed was for the people she loved to tell her that everything was okay when it was so clearly, undeniably not. The blonde needed someone who didn’t know her, who could look her in the eyes and let her know that it was not her fault.

 

“Let him go, Abby,” Mr. Jaha croaks out, breaking the tense-filled silence. Everyone in audience looks at him, and if they weren’t surprised before, they were definitely floored now.

 

Abby looks like she wants to argue, pursing her lips. But it was his son’s funeral and they had all already caused enough damage for one day. Heaving out a sigh, Abby nods in Bellamy’s direction. “You take care of her,” she says, serious as a heart attack.

 

Bellamy chews the inside of his cheek, mumbles a “Yes, ma’am,” before taking off in the direction that Clarke had left.

 

After a moment, the two groups sit down once more, hands holding hands, heads resting against shoulders.

 

Thelonious Jaha raises his head, standing straighter, and continues where he left off.

 

***

 

Clarke’s heart is shattered in her chest, the broken pieces slicing ribbons through her lungs, scraping against her ribcage. She makes it to a big oak tree before finally collapsing in a heap to the grassy floor, heaving with sobs. Shoving her face in her hands, she cries and hates herself for it, hates that she couldn’t even make it through Wells’ funeral without coming apart at the seams.

 

Hates the entire world that it’s even happening, because Wells was twenty years old and had so much going for him, was kind and compassionate and so damn smart- and now he was just… gone. Forever.

 

“I can’t I can’t _I can’t,_ ” Clarke chokes out, rocking back and forth. Her head starts to ache, her nose running, dress sticking to her back in panicked sweat.

 

And then there’s a tall figure, kneeling down. Clarke gets a flash of black slacks and worn but polished dress shoes before there’s a face she’d never thought she’d see, so close to her own.

 

Bellamy Blake. Recklessly handsome and mysteriously ruthless, a somber face that holds surprisingly soft brown eyes and a sad frown creasing his wide mouth. With a tenderness she doesn’t deserve, he reaches out a hand and tucks a lock of her wavy hair behind one ear, smoothing back the frizzy strands.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs softly, meeting her tear-stained gaze, his warm breath fanning over her face. She sniffles, staring at him wearily.

 

“W-why are you sorry?” she hiccups around a sob, the tears still streaming down her cheeks.

 

In response, Bellamy purses his lips, looking unsure but determined.

 

“Because I know how much you’re hating yourself right now, and I needed someone here for me like this, but I didn’t have anyone.” And with that bold declaration, he removes his suit jacket and sits down beside her, shoulder to shoulder against the tree. 

 

Clarke blinks dazedly, shaking and sniffling, utterly confused as he then places the suit jacket around her shoulders.  Before she even realizes it’s happening, he pulls her close, rubbing his hands up and down her arms in a soothing gesture. And it should be awkward and weird and uncomfortable, but for the first time in a long, long time, Clarke feels safe. 

 

She just doesn't understand, doesn't get why he's being so _nice_ to her when all they've ever been to each other are coworkers at a stupid day camp. Doesn't get it because the only other person that Clarke has seen Bellamy Blake give a damn about is his sister. And that is something she is definitely _not._  

 

“Bellamy, you don’t have to do this, we’re not even _friends_ -” she starts to ramble and then stops herself, because that came out crueler than she ever intended it to. But the truth was now out there, hanging in the small space between them.

 

However, Bellamy merely sighs, sounding decades older than a young man of twenty-two when he speaks, filled with a conviction that causes shivers to race down Clarke's spine. “Just- just let me do this, okay?”

 

And it’s that, right there, that has Clarke nodding, the tears forming once more.

 

It doesn’t take long for the sobs to start all over again, but Bellamy just pulls her closer, tucks her more securely against his body, making “ _shh”ing_ noises and being there for her when he didn’t need to be.

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bellamy whispers, once, into her hair, and she simply shakes her head. Ignoring his words, Clarke presses her cheek against his chest and squeezes her eyes shut.

 

In the distance, Mr. Jaha is finishing his son’s eulogy and the voices in attendance are quiet, because today they are at the funeral of a young man who would never become anything more than a beloved son and a loyal friend.


	3. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3!
> 
> I know it's slow going on the Bellarke, but it's coming guys! Also, summer camp (at least for me, and that's what I'm basing it off of) doesn't start until Mid-June. But again, it's coming.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy :)

_**(May 26, 2018)** _

 

 **It** was 11:45 a.m., and with fifteen minutes to spare before she _had_ to be out of the dorms, Clarke had her navy blue Subaru _Forester_ filled to the brim with all of her belongings. She had barely managed to stuff her mini fridge, cutting her thumb on one of the sharp corners, but after a bit off huffing and sheer will, it was now crammed into the trunk next to her mattress pad and various plastic tubs filled with clothes and other miscellaneous items.

 

It had been harder than she thought, packing, especially when it came to her memory board, because Wells was plastered all over it, whether it was old movie ticket stubs, a pirate eye patch from Arkadia’s miniature golf course, or goofy selfies of the two of them. And as much as it filled her with such intense grief whenever she spared a glance at the board, she couldn’t bear to take them down. Even Lexa was still on there, from the origami bird to the braided leather bracelet she had given Clarke after six months of dating.

 

Clarke, in a fit of rage after the breakup, had taken all of the pictures of the couple down, but she didn’t rip them up, or burn them, like she kind of wanted to, as if to avenge her shattered heart. They simply went into a small box, shoved under her bed. On the nights where the pain got really bad, the aching sadness of missing her ex, when the tears just wouldn’t stop, Clarke would slump down to the floor, pull out the box, and trace her fingers over the happy memories, frozen in time.

 

Heaving out a sigh, Clarke shuts the driver’s side door behind her, settling into the worn seat. Today, Clarke had finally thrown the pictures  into the trash, because it was time. Well, the anger and betrayal was still there, simmering in her heart, but she thinks that’s what happens when you don’t get the closure you should’ve stuck around for.

 

Throw in an immense amount of self-loathing and guilt for the way she treated her best friend right before he died, Clarke had been swept up in a tornado of loss that she had just recently started to try to break free of.

 

Didn’t mean it still didn’t haunt her every day, but Clarke wanted to know what it would be like to be happy again. Even if she was returning to the one place where the heartache would hit her the hardest, for there was no hiding from the past there.

 

The three and a half hour drive home isn’t the worst thing in the world. Clarke had always been the type to enjoy the passenger seat, content to stare out the window, fiddle with the radio, or talk about anything and everything on her mind. But Wells wasn’t there anymore to drive, wasn’t there to complain about Clarke’s “trashy” taste in music or play _I Spy My Little Eye_ or get into a heated debate about where they were going to stop for food.

 

Instead, Clarke shifts uncomfortably in her seat, rolls the window down and keeps the music blaring to some pop song she’s listened to a thousand times but needs the mindlessness of it to keep her focused on the road.

 

It’s when she’s twenty minutes away, passing the _Welcome To Arkadia, Where We Are One People,_ which, cheesy, but whatever, that Clarke actually starts to get a little excited. A little.

 

It’s probably because of Indra’s infamous blueberry pie ice cream, or the fact that she really, really does miss her mom.

 

Heart in her throat, she zooms through town, hoping that no one recognizes her just yet or her car, but of course they do. When you’re the daughter of the respected neurosurgeon, Abigail Griffin, you turn a few heads.

 

Especially when your father had been a brilliant scientist and a kind man who would help anyone in their time of need. Especially when your father had died of a heart attack while in his lab, leaving behind his wife and a then ten-year-old Clarke, who will never be able to stop missing him.

 

Clarke releases a deep breath. The loss of them didn’t feel as devastating, because now she could remember him with fondness and nostalgia. She had learned how to remember him and not let it destroy her. But with Wells, it’s different, because she doesn’t have her mother to share her sadness with.

 

Losing Wells was something she’s had to go through alone. Well, she made it that way.

 

She pulls into the paved driveway with the beaming sun still high in the sky, something in her heart easing at the sight of the yellow painted shutters and the family’s golden retriever, Riley, thumping his fluffy copper tail excitedly against the wood floor.

 

Suddenly she can’t wait to get out of the car, and she slams the door shut behind her, only getting to the grass before Riley launches himself at her with a happy _“Woof!”_ In seconds, he’s covered her in slobbery kisses and sniffing, pinning her to the grass.

 

Clarke _laughs_ , her first real laugh in months, rubbing her dog’s soft fur, burying her face in his furry neck.

 

And this, she had missed _this._

 

“Clarke! Baby!” Her mom’s voice rings out, elated and true, the sound of her bare feet padding down the porch steps. Clarke pushes lightly at the dog to get a look of her mom, shoulder-length, caramel brown hair and tanned skin in a flowy purple shirt and jean capris, dropping down beside the pair.

 

Instantly, her mom’s arms are wrapped tightly around them both, and she presses a kiss to the top of Clarke’s head, then Riley’s, making a noise of happiness. “I see that Riley got to you first,” she muses, running a hand through her daughter’s hair.

 

Clarke grins softly, shaking her head. “More like attacked me. I think I have his fur in my mouth,” she says with a look of disgust, giggling as she swipes a piece of fur from her tongue. Abby lets out a laugh as well, her hazel gaze searching Clarke’s face, taking her in for the first time since February.

 

And her daughter does look different, her curvy body thinner and with faint half-moons settled underneath her bright blue eyes. Her once long, wavy blonde hair had been cut to her collar bones, but Abby liked it. It suited her.

 

Now that her daughter was home and within arms reach, Abby could take care of her and make sure she slept and ate and smiled. She would make sure of it.

 

Clarke raises an eyebrow at the sudden determination sparking in her mother’s pretty face.

 

“Everything okay, Mom?”

 

Abby smiles, softening her heart-shaped features. “Of course, Clarke. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

 

Riley lets the two women get up after a minute of pats, yipping at their heels as they unload Clarke’s car and move into the house.

 

The rest of the day is spent unpacking and ordering greasy pizza and cuddling up together on the couch to watch _Dirty Dancing_ , because while there are things to say and discussions to have, the two are content to let it lie for awhile longer.

 

***

For the first time in a long, long time, without the help of sleeping pills or staying up to the point of utter exhaustion, Clarke falls asleep.

 

There are no nightmares, no guilt-ridden thoughts to keep her eyes open, no sickening pile of anxiety resting at the pit of her stomach, causing her to toss and turn throughout the night.

 

Clarke sleeps, and she doesn’t dream, and she doesn’t wake up to the sound of her own sobs, one of her Dad’s old band shirts sticking to her back in sweat.

 

Instead, Clarke’s eyes slowly open, a grumble humming in her throat when the pinkish glow of sunrise hits her face.

 

She’s able to forget all of the bad that swirls around her like a never-ending tornado.

 

All she has on her mind is getting a very large cup of coffee and hoping that her hair isn’t too dirty so that she doesn’t have to spend extra time in the shower washing it.

 

It’s only when she reaches out a pillow-creased hand for her phone, her groggy eyes falling on the picture frame on her nightstand, that everything comes flooding back to her, painful and real.

 

However, she finds that after a few moments, snatching her hand away and taking a few deep breaths, that the hurt she feels isn’t as devastating as it usually is.

 

Clarke has a feeling that the loss of her best friend will forever be a constant ache, but maybe it won’t be a debilitating pain that doesn’t let her get out of bed for days or cause her to wrap her arms around her stomach, trying her best to contain the sadness so it won’t affect the ones she loves.

 

Instead, Clarke’s able to grab for her phone once more and stare unflinchingly at the picture, a happy memory frozen in time.

 

It was a family vacation that Wells had begged and begged his father to be allowed to go with Clarke’s family, and Mr. Jaha had reluctantly agreed... as long as Wells called twice a day and was updated where the family was going throughout the trip.

 

It was the second day, a walk on the beach, when this picture had been taken.

 

Clarke and Wells had gone exploring, for Clarke wanted to go looking for seashells and Wells loved the smell of the ocean wafting in the warm breeze. He had carried a camera around the entirety of the trip, a small, disposable plastic one, always taking pictures, much to Clarke’s exasperated amusement.

 

The picture that rested in an artistically rusty metal frame was one taken by a local, and in it, Clarke looked like an entirely different girl, in a different time, in a different _life._

 

She was only nine, still had a tiny gap in her teeth, still thought side ponytails were cool and didn’t realize that she wore way too much pink lip gloss. Wells had been going through a phase where his hair was cropped extremely short, wore obnoxious polo-shirts and an overwhelming amount of deodorant that never failed to make Clarke sneeze.

 

God, they had been so _happy_ and _innocent_ and _free_ , arms wrapped around each other, both sporting huge grins, both unaware of what would happen in just eleven years time.

 

The Clarke back then had wanted to change the world, to change the way people saw everything through her drawings, and Wells had simply wanted to be there to see her do it all. He had always been like that, never wanting the spotlight, content to watch Clarke bask in her own.

 

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut, wanting to berate her past self, because she should’ve listened to her best friend more, should’ve made him make decisions and mistakes, should’ve made him take center stage.

 

It was always what Clarke wanted, what she decided to do, how she would get them into trouble after one of her horribly-constructed plans.

 

But a part of her knows that Wells would’ve hated taking the reins, because as much Clarke was in control, Wells was always right beside her, guiding through the obstacles and the hard choices, pulling her back up when she fell, his shoulder pressed against hers in solidarity.

 

_I miss you, buddy. I really, really miss you._

 

She opens her eyes, and in a move that makes her feel almost silly, she reaches out her index finger and lightly traces the shape of his young, round face.

 

“I’m trying, Wells, I’m trying,” she says softly, her voice rough from sleep.

 

Something like a smile almost curls up at her mouth, staring at the photograph for a few more seconds, before dropping her hand and reluctantly pushing herself out of bed.

 

A full week and a half goes by, and Clarke learns how to breathe easy all over again. She spends her mornings with a flower painted mug in one hand while the other scratches her dog’s ears, the two sitting on the front porch steps. They take in the morning chill and the rising sun, watching as some cars slip past, a school bus stops across the street to collect some elementary school kids, or her old history teacher, Mr. Pike, passes by on his daily jog.

 

It’s everything she didn’t realize she needed, and that surprised her, because Clarke thought that if she kept herself busy enough, with projects and heavy class loads and bar crawls with her art friends, Clarke would gradually move on from the worst six months of her life.

 

But it’s in these small, lazy moments, whether cuddling with a fluffy golden retriever on the front porch, or sitting at the kitchen island, the conversation flowing between her and her mom before the neurosurgeon leaves for her shift at the hospital, and even just _unpacking_ , has the noose that had been so damn tight around her chest loosening, bit by bit.

 

Even so, Clarke’s been avoiding the trip into town, for that’s where expectations and responsibilities and putting on a brave face awaits. And Clarke’s not so sure she’s ready, if she’ll ever be, but Clarke was a big girl, would be twenty-one in September and she needed to check in with the local art gallery about resuming her position and, well… she needed to show that she was living.

 

Because the last time the townspeople of Arkadia had seen her, she had  run off in the midst of her best friend’s funeral, causing quite the scene. Even worse? The one person she’d never expect to come after her, had, in all of his knight-shining glory, holding her tight and whispering, “It’s not your fault,” into her wavy blonde hair.

 

Clarke lets out a big whoosh of air at that, fingers tightening on the wheel.

 

_I can do this. I will not fall apart. I am fine._

 

_“It’s not your fault.”_

 

She shakes her head jerkily, willing those words, spoken with such certainty, away from her mind, because dwelling on them will leave her stuck in the driver’s seat, still in her driveway, paralyzed with guilt.

 

And maybe she lurches out of the driveway, skidding to a stop in the middle of the road before gunning the car, launching it forward, but Clarke is out of there and she’s going, so she’ll call it a win.

 

Arriving in town isn’t as terrible as she’d thought, apparently, even in spite of the fact that it’s a beautiful Saturday in mid-May, with everyone and their children out to enjoy it. Clarke gets two hugs, various hellos, and a simpering pat on her arm by an elderly Mr. Kyle who stares at her forced smile a bit too long before slowly moving away.

 

She makes it to Kara’s art gallery, can’t help but fully grin this time as she greets the owner warmly. She’s worked there for the past three summers, covering reception and helping the curator put together the sections throughout the gallery. She’s even had four of her own pieces inside, and with the way Kara’s bubbling happily about the prospect of more, Clarke’s pretty sure her art will be hung up again this summer.

 

Unable to help herself and her growling stomach, Clarke makes her way to Indra’s Ice Cream, and honestly, whoever can resist that woman’s mint chocolate chip delight needs to seriously question their life choices. She pushes open the dark green door and takes in the walls that mimic the night sky, swirled with constellations and ancient battles that were fought, tattooed into the stars along the walls. Indra’s cold confection shop was, in definition, the opposite what a normal person might think an ice cream parlor would look like. It wasn’t trying to be cheery or bright; instead, it reflected the personality of its owner directly.

 

Rather, it didn’t take itself too seriously. There were objects and relics from Indra’s travels from around the world scattered all over the place, with pictures of friends and family lining along one wall. It was a space not only to get ice cream, but also to relax and just be. Besides, any tone that’s considered above “yelling”, will have Indra’s daughter, Gaia, personally escorting that person out of there with one scorching glare.

 

In fact, other than Gaia, Bellamy’s younger sister Octavia and her boyfriend Lincoln, there aren’t any other workers, creating a close-knit group, a trio of attractiveness that people watches from the counter with an eye roll and stifled snicker.

 

It’s when Clarke’s struggling to choose between mint chocolate chip or peanut butter cup that she jumps in line, startled at the sound of her name being yelled from the entrance.

 

“CLARKE!” Monty Green and Jasper Jordan exclaim excitedly, rushing into the ice cream shop. Clarke’s cheeks heat up, and she’s feeling a bit shy, but the huge grins plastered on both of their faces is enough to wrangle one out of her, too.

 

The two young men trap her in a hug sandwich, squeezing tight.

 

For as long as Clarke had known the two best friends, they were stuck to each other like glue, all the way back to kindergarten.

 

 _Just like Wells and me,_ she thinks, suddenly miserable. But she can’t do this, not right now, not when she has her friends back, so she instead laughs and pushes at the two guys playfully.

 

“I can’t breathe!” she gasps dramatically, trying to wriggle herself free. And for two young men that are the definition of wiry, they make for a surprisingly strong pair. Laughing, the two break away from her, and she didn’t realize it would feel this way, didn’t realize how much she missed them until they were in front of her smiling and hugging her close.

 

Didn’t realize how much she needed something like that, for she hasn’t had it in months.

 

“Soooo,” Jasper drawls out, punching her arm lightly. “What rock have you been hiding under?” he asks, deep brown eyes sparking with mirth, but it’s not enough to hide the undercurrent of concern that lays beyond them.

 

Clarke swallows, giving him a tight smile and shrugs as nonchalantly as she can. Monty doesn’t miss any of it for a second, always the observer, shoving his hands deep into worn jean pockets.

 

“I’ve just barely made it out from under the rubble of finals, thank you very much. And how about you? How’d your finals go? How’s _Maya,”_ she ends on a sing-song voice, watching with fond exasperation as Jas’s eyes go all dreamy and soft. Beside them, Monty groans, throwing his head back to glare at the ceiling.

 

“Clarke! Now he’s never gonna shut up about her,” Monty grumbles, but the tilt of his thin mouth shows his amusement, even letting out a chuckle when Jasper shoves his best friend backwards. “Dude! She’s awesome and beautiful and _amazing_ and you know it!” he declares proudly.

 

At the same time, Monty and Clarke both deadpan, “Oh my God.”

 

And with that, Clarke’s able to avoid talking about herself, for Jasper slings an arm around both of his friends shoulders, steering them back in line with chatter about how said perfection of a girlfriend is going to be the best mechanic that Arkadia’s ever seen.

 

The afternoon goes by with the three of them stretched out in Indra’s and talking, long after their ice cream has been hungrily demolished. The friends reminise about old times and while there are some moments that make Clarke’s jaw clench and her hands ball into fists, forcing tears back, the two young men quickly change the subject to something that doesn’t mention a hint of Wells. She hates that, hates that they have to walk on eggshells around her, and maybe soon it won’t be like that anymore, but for now, being home is like opening the door to all of the boxes that are filled to the brim with grief over her loss.

 

And unpacking those boxes, sorting through them?

 

Is actually the worst.

 

But she’s okay, she’s _fine_ , because Clarke laughs and pokes fun at Jasper’s haircut and declares that they need to have a bonfire night, and soon. Monty grins, leans over the couch to fist-bump Clarke in agreement, while Jasper immediately lets out a happy shout of "Yes!" before bringing up the one time they used a giant, fridge-sized cardboard box as kindle for a very wimpy fire a few summers back.

 

“Damn, I thought you were toast, man, the way your mom ran into the backyard,” Jasper gasps out around a laugh, rolling back into his chair with giggles. Clarke’s nearly crying in hysterics, barely managing a halfway decent imitation of Mrs. Green’s voice screeching, “MONTY NATHANIEL! PUT THAT OUT!”

 

Monty shakes his head, waving his hand out in front of him as he chuckles. “Ugh, she grounded me for a week because of that.”

 

Jasper and Clarke lock eyes, both sporting wicked grins.

 

“Totally worth it though,” Jasper says cheerfully.

 

In response, Monty flips him off, though his black eyes are filled to the brim with amusement.

 

The three end up making plans for the whole gang to get together on Monday night (“Murphy might even bring his girlfriend,” Monty interjects ominously, waggling his eyebrows, while Jasper’s eyes go wide. “ Clarke, he managed to find someone exactly like him, which is just..." Jas shudders dramatically, "Terrifying.”)

 

Clarke just laughs, only adding “The more, the merrier,” before the three leave the ice cream parlor, the blonde feeling just a little bit lighter than when she walked in a few hours before. 

 


End file.
